“Well,’’ he finally said, “his father was a good friend, once. And I won’t take advantage of a man who’s mixed grief with liquor. That’s a bad combination.’’

I wondered whether he spoke from personal experience.

“That sure sounded like a lot of nonsense Trey was yelling, didn’t it?’’ I asked, watching Johnny’s face to see what it might reveal.

“Hmmm,’’ he said, showing nothing as he handed Marty the cup of chocolate.

Maddie decided to go with directness again: “Was there any truth to what Trey said?’’

Johnny clattered the urn upright onto the table. I hoped its parts weren’t breakable.

“Well?’’ I asked. “Was there?’’

A vein throbbed at his temple. He looked at me like he wanted to take that swing he hadn’t taken at Trey.

“I’m not in the habit of telling my personal business to strangers.’’ His eyes were dark; his voice cold. “Now, if y’all don’t mind, I’ve got work to do.’’

Marty had been quiet, sipping steadily from the mug he gave her. She drained it and put it down on the table. “Thanks for the chocolate,’’ she said.

He turned his back, crossed the cook site, and stomped up the stairs into the food trailer.

“Well, that was rude!’’ Maddie said.

“Shhh!’’ Marty scolded. “He’ll hear you.’’

As we left, Maddie and I each took one of Marty’s elbows, pulling her close to share the warmth of our bodies.

“Did y’all notice anything funny about Johnny?’’ she asked, once we’d put ample distance between us and his trailer.

“He was in a T-shirt, even though it’s cold,’’ Maddie offered.

“His eyes were hard,’’ I added.

“Think about his hands,’’ Marty said.

I’d been concentrating on Johnny’s face. When Maddie didn’t speak either, Marty said, “His right hand was red and swollen.’’

“So?’’ Maddie said. “He works around hot food and fire. He probably burned it.’’

Marty said, “Maybe so.’’

“What else, Marty?’’ I asked.

“Well, I just thought it looked an awful lot like my hand did that time in the orange grove, when I got stung by those bees.’’

Marty crouched at the entrance to the tent, nerves showing as she shone and re-shone the flashlight into the corners. Maddie and I had already laid the sleeping bags outside, turning them inside out.

“See, Marty?’’ I said. “No snakes.’’

She peered inside a bag. “I know I’m being a scaredy cat,’’ she said. “I’m sorry.’’

“Don’t you apologize, Marty. The one who should be sorry is the one who stuffed that rattlesnake in Mace’s jacket.’’ Maddie gave her own bag a good shake. “And he—or she—will be sorry once we find out who it was.’’

“My money’s on Austin,’’ I said, tossing my bag onto the tent’s canvas floor. “I know she snapped that whip at Val on purpose. She’s also the best candidate for shredding my tent.’’

Marty followed my bag inside, the flashlight’s beam strafing any possible hiding place. “Jealousy is a good motive, Mace. But what about her snake phobia?’’

“Oh please, Marty! You are so gullible. Can’t you just see Austin pitching a fit at that reptile house so that big, strong Trey would take her in his arms to comfort her?’’ Stretching my legs half out the zippered door, I pulled off my heavy boots. “Austin’s exactly the type of woman who would pull that damsel-in-distress crap.’’

“We all know you’re not that type, Mace.’’ Maddie put a toothbrush and a bottle of water on top of her sleeping bag. “Would it kill you to pretend, just a little, that you could use some help from Carlos? Men like to be needed, you know. And you about bit off his head when Shotgun threw Mama.’’

I made a face, but I wasn’t sure she could see me in the lantern light.

“I’m rolling my eyes at you, Maddie,’’ I said. “By the way, how come you never simper around, all helpless, with men?’’

“I don’t need to, Mace. I already have a husband.’’

“It must be this relic of a tent,’’ I said. “I think somebody just opened a time warp into 1950.’’

“Could you two please stop bickering?’’ Marty put a hand on each of our arms. “You’re making my head hurt.’’

Maddie and I were quiet for a few moments, like two kids reprimanded by their favorite teacher. I tugged off my jeans, leaving on my socks and long undies to sleep in. Maddie went outside to brush her teeth. Marty wrapped a woolen scarf around her neck, tucking the ends into the collar of a long-sleeved thermal T-shirt.

“Hand me one of those flashlights, would you, Mace?’’ Maddie leaned in. “I need to use the little girl’s room before bed.’’

I handed over a light, along with a wad of toilet paper. “Oh for God’s sake, Maddie. You don’t need to walk all the way to creation and back to find the portable potties. Just use that clump of brush out there by the horse trailer.’’

“I will not!’’ She summoned her most dignified tone. “Principals do not squat in the bushes, Mace. Suppose a student spotted me? They’d snap a picture on their cell phone and it’d be all over YouTube by first period tomorrow: Me, doing my business. It’d be tough after that to exert my authority.’’

As Maddie stalked off into the darkness, Marty and I snuggled into our sleeping bags. It made me think of when we were kids, sharing a room with twin beds. Maddie, of course, had claimed her own room.

“I’ve been thinking about all the things that have happened, Mace. If Austin is responsible, like you say, then how does that tie in with your notion about Lawton being murdered?’’

It was too dark to see the confusion on Marty’s face. But I knew it was there. I was equally as confused.

“I haven’t put all the pieces together yet, Marty. Maybe Austin’s not just jealous about Trey and me. Maybe she had something to do with Lawton’s death, and she doesn’t want me around to find out what it was.’’

I heard Marty’s soft breathing as she pondered that possibility.

“Then how do those bees figure in, Mace? And Johnny Adams? And Wynonna and Trey?’’ Her voice had an uncharacteristic note of skepticism. “And what if Lawton’s death was just a heart attack? What if everything is completely unrelated?’’

Marty’s question hung in the air. The horses noisily munched hay outside in their temporary paddock. Bullfrogs croaked from a far pond. Night creatures scrabbled in dry brush.

“I don’t know, Marty,’’ I finally answered her. “I was a lot more willing before last summer to believe in unrelated coincidences. Don’t you remember all the things Jim Albert’s killer did to scare us off the trail?’’

“I do. I also remember the nasty notes and threats, and you haven’t gotten any of those on this ride. Why do you think that is, Mace?’’

Truthfully, I didn’t know what to think. Maybe I was over-reacting.

“I mean . . .’’ Marty breathed deeply, then continued, “Shotgun running away with Mama might have been an accident, and maybe Johnny really did burn his hand. And maybe Austin didn’t mean to hit Val. And Trey and Wynonna both deny there’s something between them; maybe they’re not lying. And suppose some teenager thought it’d be funny to rip apart your sleeping bag and soak it with red wine . . .’’

“Okay, enough! Now you’re giving me a headache.’’

She patted my cheek. She was wearing mittens.

“Sorry, Mace. I guess we only know a couple of things for sure: Lawton Bramble is dead . . .’’

I interrupted, “And what they find in that chili cup will tell us something about how he died.’’